


Uncareful

by esteefee



Series: Flying [2]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-11
Updated: 2008-09-11
Packaged: 2017-10-15 09:44:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/159537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteefee/pseuds/esteefee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodney makes John fly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Uncareful

John's never been careful, not when flying or driving or even when planting explosives. The last time he remembers being this careful, he thinks as he opens the buttons to Rodney's shirt, was when he used to make model airplanes as a kid.

He spent hours and hours then, delicately trimming wing spars out of balsa wood and pinning them to Saran-wrap covered plans before gluing the pieces together. He used as little glue as possible so the plane would be light and fly a long time.

His hands look too big and awkward on Rodney's hips. But Rodney moans and lifts his ass, letting John slide off his boxers. John brushes his fingers over the smooth, pale skin of his ass, conscious of the calluses on his fingertips, the way they must be scratchy and irritating, but Rodney just sighs and seems to melt into the bed.

After the wings dried, John did the papering by laying white glue, not the clear, nose-stinging stuff from the green and white tube. He dabbed it along the top struts and then placed the wing face-down on the pale blue tissue paper. It had to be the perfect amount—too much glue made the paper tear when he tried to stretch it along the wing. Too much glue would make it too heavy.

John spreads Rodney’s cheeks with his rough hands. It seems impossible—even though they've done this a few times before—that something so small can open up enough to hold him. That Rodney wants him to do this thing.

But he must, because at the first tentative touch of John's lube-slicked fingertips Rodney spreads his legs wider with a _mmm-hmm_ of approval. And when John rubs the stuff over Rodney's hole and then slides a couple of fingers in, Rodney opens right up for him.

It makes John's chest go tight every single goddamned time—Rodney trusts him this much. Rodney wants it. He always makes sure John knows it, too, by letting himself make noises and babbling stuff John would be too embarrassed to even _think_.

And the proof that Rodney wants him is right here under his careful fingers, in the way John's cock somehow miraculously fits because Rodney is relaxing, stretching open for him, his back swaying as he lifts his hips higher so he can take all of John, take him all the way in.

John always got a little high on the dope he used to finish the wings when painting it over the tissue paper, the fumes rising as the dope evaporated, leaving the paper air-tight and shiny and making John dizzy.

He's dizzy right now, drunk on the tight, slick heat of Rodney's ass, the way he shifts back against John’s thrusts, the way he swivels his hips as if he wants to feel every inch of John inside him.

John bites back a curse and tries to ease his grip on Rodney’s hips. He has to be careful, more careful than this, but Rodney squeezes down on him hard and says, “Yes, John, God, more, more,” winding John up like the oiled rubber band he used to power his plane. He always wound it up to breaking so the plane would fly as long as possible; just as tightly as Rodney is winding him right now with his pleas and his moans and the way he shudders under John’s uncareful hands, his ragged thrusts, and when Rodney lets go, John does too, letting himself whisper Rodney’s name as he finally leaves the ground and takes flight.

Rodney makes him fly.


End file.
